Sweet Sillage
by CaityJH
Summary: Ponyboy Curtis discovers an unbreakable bond with a little auburn-haired girl while mourning the loss of another loved one.
1. Thantophobia

_Disclaimers: S.E. Hinton owns. I borrow._

 _Might be a touchy subject for some. Rated just to be safe._

 _Not sure how frequently this will be updated, just a sudden idea I had._

* * *

 **Sweet Sillage**

\- _Chapter one -_

Thantophobia

* * *

 _Thantophobia: The fear of losing someone you love_

* * *

 _February 5th, 1975_

 _2:03 AM_

The white clock ticks. On the pasty white wall, above the white chairs on the grimy white tiled floor, the white clock ticks it's constant beat. The white coated doctors pay no attention to the moving of the dark white hands of the shiny white clock, whilst the man sitting in one of the white cushioned chairs refuses to remove his gaze from the slow moving pieces.

Ponyboy's borrowed hospital scrubs are blue.

He watches the clock. Focuses, focuses hard on those grey hands and that soft tick as a second passes.

 _Focus, focus, focus_

For most of his life, it's been an easy task. Focus. Focus on this, focus on that - all it took was a deep breath and a surge of concentration and _snap_ , he'd be focused on that calculus problem, or that essay, or that track meet. He was good. So good it landed him in fourth grade when his age said third. So good it handed him a full ride scholarship to the University of Oklahoma. So good it made him pass with honours and a smile.

He just had to focus.

The clock. The white rimmed clock.

 _Focus on the clock_ Ponyboy tells himself.

But all of a sudden the clock becomes red, and the hands that tick becomes red, and the pasty walls and the cushioned chairs and the grimy floor and the white coats - they're all red. Dripping with the fiery color.

 _Focus on the clock, the white rimmed clock_

 _The clock is white_

 _White_

 _White_

 _White._

It's still red. Soaked in red like the colour of the blood. The red blood, creating a pool in the sheets of their bed as her panicked voice had screamed an emergency.

 _Red_

The red blood spattered on the doctor's scrubs in the OR. The red blood caked on their latex gloves.

 _Red_

The red blood held in a bag marked with the same blood type of his wife's.

 _Red._

Pony rubs his jaw, takes a shaky breath. Focus, he tells himself. Focus on the clock. The _white_ clock.

Focus.

Not on the blood. Not on the doctors. Not on the endangered lives of his family. _The clock._ The white clock, sitting on the pasty white wall above the cushioned white chairs on the grimy white tiled floor surrounded by the doctors' white coats.

 _The clock._

 _The clo-_

"family of Mrs. Katie Curtis?"

His head jerks up, wincing at her name. He takes a breath, clears his throat, stands on shaky legs. He can't tell if the doctor was one of the ones that were in the OR, covered in the red blood. He assumes he was, but with the white paper masks and the pale blue scrub caps and the blood covered latex gloves, it was hard to recognize the staff in the room. As expected, they were the lowest on the list of his current worries.

He walks across the room, focusing on the clicking of the shiny white clock behind him, trying in every possible way to just rid his mind of the worst possible outcomes of the situation.

The mere ten steps between himself and the white-coated man feels like hundreds, no - thousands more.

He stops, manages to look the man in the blue eyes he owns, but has to look away as quick as he started; Katie's are the same. Hers are more blue, the bluest blue Ponyboy could ever imagine seeing, but even the colour blue could send him into a coma at this state. Even another blonde, or another bearer of freckles, another large smile, hell, a red sweater like the one she just loves to wear. Everything screams _her._

"You are the father I presume?" The doctor asks.

Ponyboy opens his mouth, fighting for words to escape, but his voice seems lost. _He's_ lost. So he manages a subtle nod, his head feeling ten times heavier on his shoulders.

God, it's that word. The _F-word._ The _father_ word. It has rang through his own head and ears many more times than once over the past seven months, but not once has it held so much pain. So much worry.

 _"You're gonna be a daddy!"_ A phrase heard so often, he hadn't ever doubted it or been even slightly unsure. Why would he? It was true, wasn't it?

He ain't ever imagined _this_ would happen. That he'd be sitting in the white chair listening to the ticking white clock on the pasty white walls or standing next to the white-coated doctor listening to the word _father_ as it held so much doubt and pain. 'Cause what if it ain't true? What if that heard-so-often phrase that he couldn't get enough of ended up wrong? What if the next word out the blue-eyed doctor's mouth proved it so? What if he _wasn't_ gonna be a daddy? A father?

Ponyboy thinks of the not-quite-finished nursery back home. Thinks of the yellow and purple and green walls and the light-wooded crib. Thinks of how empty the crib would look, thinks of how much hurt it would cause without a small figure lying inside it.

"Would you like to go somewhere more private? My office perhaps?"

Pony's breath hitches. His throat runs even more dry.

Private room. _Private room._ Alarms sound in his head and his heartbeat throbs in his ears. Private room means private news. Private news means tragic news. He's never been one to handle well with tragic news and he knows this. Is aware of this. He exhales quickly, shutting his eyes, trying clearing his head that is plagued with painful thoughts.

 _They're okay._

 _They're fine._

 _They're alive._

 _They're okay._

 _They're okay._

 _They're okay,_ he tells himself. Lets it run over and over again in his mind like a broken record.

But god, there's that whispering voice behind the mantra in his head that cannot be shut off, nor tuned out. It's there, quiet but screaming. Screaming at him louder and louder each time he repeats that desired phrase. _They're okay._

 _They're not._

 _They are._

 _They aren't._

Ponyboy puts force into his shut eyes, attempting to push away the painful headache generated as both voices inside grapple for dominance. As his green orbs reopen, and the doctor stares back at him, an unreadable expression on his face and familiar looking blue eyes, Pony realizes he isn't any more stabilized than he was before he took a breath and shut them first. It's no use. He feels as if he would break apart like a glass porcelain doll if someone as little as pokes him. Let alone leads him into the doctor's office.

Jesus. His office. A private room. Private news. Tragic news.

 _No,_ he says, or rather expresses, shaking his head, words unable to escape his throat. No private room. No tragic news. The thought is suffocating, knowing that if he walks into the guy's office he probably won't be able to carry himself out. Knowing he'd be trapped there. In that private room, with that private news floating in his ears. He doesn't want that. No.

Maybe if he doesn't go, he won't have to listen to tragic news. Maybe he can avoid it all together. Take a bypass off the frightening highway he can barely drive upon.

The doctor eyes him warily, wondering if he needs to call for a stretcher. Wondering if this man can physically handle what's about to be revealed.

"Very well," He says slightly gently. "Let's get to it then."

Ponyboy takes another breath, steps a little closer to the wall next to him, knowing he'll probably need something for support. He tries his hardest to keep his eyes on the doctor's, but the particular colour makes it painful, makes it difficult.

"We had to perform emergency surgery on Katie immediately after she was brought in, as the risk was very high for both her and the baby. It was touch and go, but despite the preterm birth, baby looks okay. She's being closely monitored by doctors and nurses in neonatal intensive care."

Ponyboy blinks, runs a shaky hand through his hair. Replays the doctor's words inside his brain.

Did he just say...

The doctor gives a small smile, noticing the surprise. "Congratulations Mr. Curtis. You have a daughter."

Pony lets himself smile, a small one. Rests his hand on the back of his head and glances up at the white ceiling, his green eyes glistening with unshed tears.

He has a daughter.

A daughter.

 _Daughter._

 _A daddy._

 _He's a daddy._

After several hours of painful apprehensiveness and doubt, it's true. Ponyboy Curtis is officially a father, to a brand new baby girl. His body rushes with many emotions and feelings, staggering him on his feet, the provisional wall becoming suddenly useful.

He looks at the doctor, at his shiny bald head, at his salt and pepper scruff along his jaw and mouth, which curves into a frown. He looks at his large, silver rimmed glasses and the familiar coloured blue eyes beneath them. Pony has to take a second glance, because they too are frowning. Dripping with regret of words left unsaid from his lips.

Ponyboy's confused. He's confused, so confused, because aren't doctors supposed to be happy too? To take gratification in their own achievement of successfully bringing a brand new life into the world? To be pleased to inform the loved ones of their new family member or friend? Pony's confused, cause the doctor standing in front of him ain't happy, ain't gratified, ain't pleased. No, he ain't. Why? Why not?

And Ponyboy don't want to ask. Knows the unsaid words hanging from the lips of the doctor standing in front of him won't be happy either.

He knows.

He takes a shaky breath and covers his mouth with a shaky hand. Before he can stop it one of the unshed tears from his glistening green eyes runs down his pale face and he's shaking his head. silently pleading, begging for the inevitable truth to be false. Only it's not. He knows it's not. The painful, silent voice in his head has reached dominance, it's quietness reaching unbearable noisiness. Near completely deafening the hopeful mantra Ponyboy had been playing all night.

He continues shaking his head, both shaky hands covering his face, concealing the trembling frown on his lips.

No.

No

No

 _No._

"Your wife - Katie, went into circulatory shock from the large amount of blood she had lost. We administered a blood transfusion during surgery, but she was loosing it faster than we could replace it. The baby was successfully delivered and brought to NICU, but-"

No.

 _No._

Ponyboy thinks he says it out loud because the doctor's frown deepens and his blue eyes drip with even more condolence. With pity.

 _No. Just no._

He shakes his head, imploringly willing for the next words from the doctor's mouth to be anything other than the ones he expects. 'Cause no, _no_ , he ain't sure he can handle it if it ain't.

"But we were unable to revive her, due to-"

And he stumbles. Lets out a unrecognizable sound from his lips and falls, knees buckling. The doctor's words go blind on his ears as he lets himself break.

Shatter.

"She lost too much blood."

No.

No.

No no no no no

God, _no._

Loud, sharp sobs sound through the hallways of the hospital. Sound from Ponyboy Curtis, unable to keep himself together on the grimy white tiled floor, near the pasty white walls. Deep, agonizing, guttural sobs wreck and break his body. The body of a newly widower. The body of a man breaking apart from the unbearable torture and grief laid upon him.

"I'm incredibly sorry for your loss, Mr. Curtis."

Ponyboy's clammy forehead rests on the grimy tiled floor, both hands on the back of his head. Violent shakes pulse through him and his sobs become so intense they grow quiet, an occasional hiccup escaping as he attempts to breathe.

His heartbeat thumps through his ears and head, fast and loud.

No.

No.

Damn it, _no._ Anything but this.

Not _this._

No.

A moment passes and the voice of his brother, his middle brother sound through the room, through his ears. He wonders when he called him. If it was back at the house when everything started.

He's saw him, noticed the crumbled heap of his baby brother on the floor. The oldest, he's there too. Their two friends. They're all there. Excited to meet the new addition to the family, wives and children of their own at home, waiting for the morning to visit.

They all stop in their tracks, knowing something's wrong. Feeling it's heaviness in the air. Seeing their youngest member dressed in blue scrubs and on the floor. On the grimy floor.

Ponyboy barely acknowledges them, drowning in his own sea of grief and despair.

The doctor tells them, informs them of the loss. The death of their brother's wife. The death of their sister-in-law. He tells them about the baby, too. The baby girl, the miracle child.

Less than a second passes and Sodapop's already got his arms around his little brother. Already whispering words of comfort to the twenty-three year-old. Darry rushes over too, rests a steady hand on his quivering back, lets his own head hang low. Their friends keep their distance, but stay close enough to ensure they're present.

Two-Bit makes a silent reminder to hug and kiss Kathy and his boys extra hard went he heads home.

Ponyboy leans into the embrace of his brothers, unable to keep his body up, exhausted. His eyes droop as tears flood from them and the guttural sobs continue. His head rests on Soda's lap, letting himself be treated fourteen again. Letting himself be taken care of.

Sodapop gently shushes him, running a hand through his sweaty hair as Darry rubs circles on his back.

"She's gone, Soda." He says, sniffing, his face swelled and puffy.

"I know, kiddo."

And he does. He knows.

"She's really gone. Really dead."

"Oh honey, I know."

He knows.

He really does.

* * *

XXX


	2. Deuterophobia

Hey, I'm back.

Disclaimers: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. I borrow.

* * *

 **Sweet Sillage**

 _\- Chapter 2 -_

Deuterophobia

* * *

 _Deuterophobia: The fear of Mondays_

* * *

 _September 4th, 1970_

 _Theo's Bar & Grill, Norman, OK_

 _10:21PM_

He swallows the remainder of his beer in one gulp, forcefully setting the glass bottle down onto the bar with a loud thud. The drink goes down sharp, making him wince, but not because of unfamiliarity. He's drank beer before. More than one (perhaps one too many) as well. He grew up as a greaser next to Two-Bit Mathews. Of course he's had a drink. Even when his brother is the "big bad" Darry Curtis. The man's bound to have at least one.

But this time's different. This time's a first. Ponyboy's drinking not because of occasion, not because of entertainment or recreation, but for relief. A futile attempt to relieve himself of the worry and stress that swarm him like a plague. It's his second beer, but it leaves nothing. Not even a slight buzz.

The bar's crowded, probably because it's a Friday night. There's sounds of laughing and yelling and clashing glasses and possibly crying. It's a rather popular bar, it's easily told, but Ponyboy wonders if some of them are here drowning their sorrows for the same reason he is.

It _is_ the closest bar to the University of Oklahoma. There's bound to be one person who's stressing about the upcoming semester, or their exam grades from last year. Has to be. He ain't the only one, right?

He's almost tempted to get up from his seat and yell this, but he doesn't, realizing maybe the two downed beers _had_ left a slight buzz.

He wants another, wants to greaten this feeling, knowing it's another step closer to relief, but he's broke. His puny paycheck from his part-time job at the Dairy Queen doesn't come in until Sunday.

He thinks about if he wasn't given that full-ride scholarship and it fuels the need for another drink.

It's times like these when he really appreciates Darry. And his impressive skill in track. Who knew?

Ponyboy sits there for a few minutes listening to the Elvis song on the radio and the clinking and clashing of glasses around the bar. He keeps to himself, thinking about those dreadful front doors of the University of Oklahoma that he'll come to greet again on the upcoming Monday.

And the next minute he's blinking at the bartender as he picks up the empty bottle and keeps asking that same question.

"Another?"

He wants to say yes, needing to get rid of those damn frosted windowed, cherry wooded doors stuck in his mind. But all that sits in his wallet are 13 cents, a coupon to Albertson's, and a square photograph of little Tommy and Jack that Two-Bit gave him and the rest of the guys.

Another drink?

Another?

 _Yes._

 _No._

 _Yes?_

 _No._

Oh, but he really wants it. Wants that third beer even if it puts him in debt to the bartender. Really wants it. Not in the addicted, alcoholic type of way because he really, _really_ hopes he doesn't stoop that low later in his life but yeah, he wants it. Pony wonders why he ever judged Two-Bit on his drinking habits when he was a kid. Maybe the guy had a lot on his mind. Maybe he was worrying about the third semester of college too. He would have the third drink, right? It can't hurt, can it?

Ponyboy sighs and rubs the back of his head with shaky hands, silently scolding himself for this unusual attitude of his. _No._ _You're finished._

And he's prepared to say this, ready to provide his final answer to the internal struggle and to the bartender, but then he meets his brown eyes and watches him stare with a face that is definitely calling Ponyboy a weirdo and he sees the glass brown bottle and imagines it being full and thinks of the stress that could be drowned inside the alcohol and he wants to say yes. _Yes yes yes._

But then he stops because goddammit, what would Darry say? What would Darrel Shayne Curtis say at the first sight of his baby brother whilst he practically hurts himself trying to decide on that third beer? Pony knows. Darry would be disappointed. He'd be hurt and angry because he didn't raise him like this and he'd pick him up and drag his ass back to those cherry wood doors himself and he'd kill the bartender while in the act for selling his 19 year-old kid brother alcohol - so no. He doesn't want that third beer. He doesn't have any more money anyways.

 _No._

His green eyes find their way back to the bartender's brown ones and he's prepared again, ready to say it. Ready to refuse.

He blinks, swallows, takes a breath and opens his mouth, trusting what will come out.

"Thanks, but n-"

"We'll both have one. On me."

The voice startles him, making his eyes go wide. The bartender grabs the empty bottle and walks off, returning with two cold full ones dripping with condensation.

 _Wait, what? No!_

Ponyboy looks over at the girl beside him, staring at her as she sips her drink. The first thing he notices is those eyes. Those bright blue eyes with enough light to illuminate the black night. They're mesmerizing. He's seen countless blue eyes in his lifetime, all different shades and shadows, but nothing like the ones staring back at him. For a minute he's lost in them, washed away from the stress and cherry wood doors faster than beer ever possibly could. Her light golden blonde hair sits in large curls on her shoulders, the front ends pulled to the back with a silver hairpin, letting her face and blue eyes glimmer through. She leans one elbow on the bar with the beer in her hand, her legs crossed below.

Her eyes - located above brown freckles that scatter her nose and cheekbones - match the collared shirt emerging from the neckline and cuffs of the red sweater she's slipped in.

She's beautiful, that's for sure.

"Not going to drink your beer?"

He clears his throat, realizing that he'd been staring too long to be pleasing.

"Um... no."

"Why not? Considering I paid for it and all." She smirks.

"I didn't ask you to."

"No, you didn't."

"Then why'd you buy it?"

She chuckles. "You look like you needed it, is all."

Ponyboy inwardly boos himself, imagining the yells and laughs that would be pointed at him if his friends back home sat around him. The mere fact that a pretty girl (blonde too) had been the one buying _him_ a drink is embarrassing enough, much less that a pretty girl thought he _needed_ it. Pony cringes.

 _Does he really look_ that _bad?_

He silently decides to take a detour from that subject, not exactly sure he would be pleased with the answer.

"How old are you?"

The girl raises her eyebrows, coughing as she takes another sip of her beer. "Buddy, you really need to work on your small talk."

Ponyboy squeezes his eyes shut in embarrassment, cringing for the second time tonight. He can just hear Two-Bit's roaring laugh sounding in his head already.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry - It's just, you don't really look old enough to be 21."

She returns a small smile, letting him relax an inch.

"Can't say you do either."

"Got me there. I'm 19. Friends with the owner. He let's me come in and have a few drinks every once in a while."

He blinks, wondering why he let that slip, why he would tell that to a stranger. The little sort of information with his age could find it's way to the fuzz, and remove his friend of a job. Pony's drinking opportunities, too. But there's that feeling inside him, directed at the girl in front of him, at those blue eyes. A feeling of trust. It's unexpected.

"Yeah? You know Theo? What do you know, so do I." She squirms in the barstool. "And no, I ain't 21. My 20th birthday's in December."

He smiles to himself. She must trust him, too.

Ponyboy nods, not having any ideas of what to say. He scolds himself for not listening to his friend's drunken lessons on relationships. He's had girlfriends. Two. But that was high school and this is college. He's too busy sweating over exams and expenses and cherry wood doors to worry about girls. Now that there's one in front of him, live and in the flesh, speaking directly to him, he's a bit dumbstruck. Especially while her shimmering blue eyes hypnotize him.

A moment passes and no words are exchanged between the two, causing Ponyboy to be unsure if whether or not it's time for him to leave. It's just, he's not positive he wants to. The girl in front of him - with her beautiful eyes and silky blonde hair and red sweater - gives him a new feeling. Her presence makes his stomach flutter and his brain flop. The idea that he may never see this girl again if he leaves is painful - no, unacceptable. It's strange; he's known this girl for just a few minutes and he's already drawn to her. Connected to her.

He wants to stay. Even if they both sit here until dawn without a word exchanged.

It's a good thing he's still got a full beer in front of him.

"So, you gonna tell me?" She asks, folding her hands together.

Now he's the one raising his eyebrows.

"Tell you what?"

She jokingly rolls her eyes. "What's got you here moping around by yourself."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"You just wouldn't understand."

"No? Try me."

"No."

"Why not? You _do_ owe me." She says, smirking again.

Ponyboy tilts his head, not understanding.

She laughs. "I bought you that beer."

He smiles.

"You really want to know?"

She nods her head, and he tell her. Opens his mouth and willingly lets the words flow out. He tells her about the University of Oklahoma, about the excitement and nervousness of his first semester at the age of seventeen. Tells her about his scholarship and the happiness of his family back in Tulsa. He tells her about the second semester, how he expected it to be like the first - challenging, though exhilarating - but he was disappointed. How he was hit hard with assignments and grueling subjects. Pony tells her how he barely passed, how he lies to his brothers about his final grades.

He tells her how he doesn't want to go back for his third semester.

He tells her everything, and she listens.

"And there you have it. My story."

She frowns. "Aw, no it ain't. Part of it, maybe. One crappy semester of university don't define who you are."

Ponyboy sighs. "Yeah, well it sure as hell feels like it does."

"Oh trust me, I get you there. I just finished my first semester and it was nothing like how you described yours. Now that I know how your second went, I'm not jumpin' to heading back either."

His eyes widen. "You're in university?"

She smiles. "What, you couldn't tell? Half the people in this place are college kids. We ain't the only underage drinkers."

He blinks, genuinely shocked. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah. Theo's got a soft spot for faint-hearted, stressed out students. Why'd you think he let _us_ in?"

Ponyboy snickers, wondering how the owner of a bar managed to predict his college outcome.

"I guess he knows when a guy needs a drink."

"Yeah, but you don't seem like the type of guy to ' _need a drink_ '." The girl says, her voice soft.

"What can I say," Pony sighs. "Difficult times."

"Ah, aren't they fun?" She stares at her beer, sighing too. "This is first drink I've had for longer than I can count. And it's not that I don't like it, I do, but since I started college, everything's just piling up, you know?"

He nods, listening.

"I used to go out every weekend with my friends. Geez, I used to have _fun_. But then I got a job, and moved out here, and started my first semester, and I hardly got a couple hours by myself, let alone a whole weekend. I worked on Christmas, slept through New Years, worked and studied my way through spring break, and when summer rolled around, I went to Texas to visit my parents, who aren't exactly the most relaxing people on the globe with their messy divorce."

She takes a long sip of her beer.

"This is the first Friday night I've spent out in a real long time. So hey, you ain't the only one going through difficult times."

"No, guess not." He gives her a comforting look. "Sorry about your parents."

She shrugs. "Thanks, but it was bound to happen anyway. They barely stopped screaming at each other when I grew up there. They didn't sleep in the same bed, didn't share the same groceries, it was hell. I hated them for always fighting, but they're my folks, you know? I can never truly hate them. Not really."

Ponyboy remembers the shouting he once heard outside a familiar house back in Tulsa. Man, could Johnny's folks scream. They screamed and yelled and sometimes they hit. They left bruises on Johnny that ran deeper than skin. How they left him like a lost, broken puppy that was easily picked on. After he died, Ponyboy stopped hearing the shouting and things being smashed inside the familiar house. Maybe they realized how it was worthless, the fighting, the hitting. How their endless conflicts made them oblivious to their hurt and desperate child.

It crosses his mind, but he doesn't think this girl's parents were like Johnny's. She seems too bright, not like the kicked puppy that Johnny Cade was so easily compared to.

He contemplates mentioning his own departed parents, but decides against it, not wanting to get into a subject he still finds painful.

"So what about you? What're you intending on doing on this Friday night besides sit in a bar and talk to me? Any plans?" She asks, lightheartedly.

Ponyboy thinks for a second, puts down his beer and really thinks, wondering what he should say. Cause he doesn't have plans, he didn't even plan on coming to Theo's on an empty wallet anyways, but now that he's here, sitting next to a beautiful girl drinking a beer that she paid for, he wants to stay. He wants _her_ to stay.

"None that I know of. Your company ain't all that bad anyhow."

She smiles. "Well, I'm flattered."

"What about you? Any other plans?" He asks, hoping her answer to be the opposite. He's tempted to cross his toes inside his shoes.

"Guess not, mister. You'll have to put up with me."

Ponyboy smiles, though deep down he's jumping for joy at the achievement.

He lets out a laugh. "Well that ain't so bad."

"No? Well that calls for a toast." She returns the laugh, her smile and shimmering blue eyes beaming.

He holds up his beer. "Cheers to...?"

She holds up hers. "Cheers to faint-hearted, stressed out college students."

He grins. "Cheers to faint-hearted, stressed out college students."

They clink their bottles together, smiles beaming from both their faces. Ponyboy watches the girl. Watches her smile that perfect smile and speak with the emotion from her bluest blue eyes. He sees her light golden locks bounce on her shoulders which are covered by her bright red sweater. He listens to her carefree voice and her bright, contagious laugh that easily whisks away the thought of those cherry wood doors. He watches this beautiful girl that so happened to buy him a drink.

A drink that he hopes will not be the last of the night, even if he'd have to start paying with coupons.

'Cause the night's just getting started. Their _lives_ are just getting started.

So cheers.

Cheers to faint-hearted, stressed out college students.

He still has to figure out this girl's name, anyways.

* * *

 _Please review, they make me smile :)_


	3. Decidophobia

_Disclaimers: S.E. Hinton owns the Outsiders._

 _A/N: I'm sorry for the wait of this chapter. I know I did say I wasn't sure how frequently this story would be updated, but for those of you who were waiting, I'm very sorry it took so long. I don't have many excuses, except that this chapter was just over all hard to write. It took a lot of determination to sit down and finish it._

 _To make up for it though, I wrote this chapter extra long. Hope you're not too mad at me. ;) Enjoy._

* * *

 **Sweet Sillage**

 _\- Chapter 3 -_

Decidophobia

* * *

 _Decidophobia: The fear of making decisions_

* * *

 _March 12th, 1975_

 _7:13 AM_

The breeze flows upon Ponyboy's bare arms, making him shiver. Though spring is just peeking around the corner with it's humidity and thunderstorms, winter still holds it's firm grasp on Tulsa, it's cold weather still out for everyone to witness. Ponyboy Curtis has forgotten his jacket again.

Apparently some things never change.

Like his favourite place near his house. It's not far - 600 yards at the most. With Darry always telling him not to wander far as a kid, it was really the longest distance he could get. It was far enough. After Windrixville, sauntering off somewhere far from the safety of his home was hardly ever something he wished on doing again. It wasn't a fear of running away, but rather the love and comfort of his home and brothers that he realized had been taken for granted. After Windrixville and Bob and Johnny and Dallas, Ponyboy came to the realization that sometimes he'd rather just stay by his home, with his brothers.

Even when there were still times he wished he could get away.

He wishes he could get away. Just get up and leave, all the hurt and pain and worry and tears left behind him. It's selfish, he knows. Of course he knows. Just like he knows how impossible it is. It's like he's fenced inside with all the hurt. Blocking him from escaping. Drowning him underneath deep water within those tall fences.

And he might be crazy, but it's like everyone - Darry and Soda and the gang - it's like they're the ones building those fences. Like they're the one's pushing his head under the water. Telling him to "take it easy" and to "let it all in" and "grieve". It's frustrating because how can you keep your head above deep water by _taking it easy_? You can't. He can't.

He's got responsibilities. Phone calls from his boss, phone calls from his landlord, phone calls from her parents. He's got hospital bills, funeral bills, a house that needs furniture.

He's got a little girl.

A tiny, six-week-old little girl that needs love and care and attention, especially now when her hospital discharge date is just a week away. She needs food, diapers, warm blankets, a soft place to lay her head, a roof over her head - all things Ponyboy Curtis has got to do alone.

God, he's never imagined that he'd have to do this alone.

I guess it's ironic that he's out here, 600 yards away from his childhood home just before dawn, wishing to be alone. He just wants to be alone, but all it takes is a second and then he realizes he already is. He already _is_ alone. Has been since that blue-eyed doctor told him the tragic news six weeks ago.

Six weeks.

It's hard to think about - the time that's gone by. Because all he thinks about is the time that's gone by without her. He sees her bright freckles and her mesmerizing blue eyes and her silky blonde hair and that soft red sweater and he just, he's got to stop for a second because has it really been six weeks? Six weeks since her perfect smile lit up the room around her? Six weeks since he last wrapped his arms around her? Six weeks since her beautiful blue eyes looked into his?

Has it really been six weeks?

It's a thought he doesn't want to go near. He shakes his head and forces the tears away from his eyes, knowing if one falls there won't be anything to stop the thousands following it.

If he "lets it all in" than what's to say he can let it out? Let it go? Letting it in would only drown him, hold his head under the cold water inside the tall fences. Then who would take care of his daughter? No one, 'cause there ain't no one left. He's the last man standing. Sure there's Soda and Darry, but that's different. They aren't that baby's mom and dad. They say they're there, that he doesn't have to be alone in this, but - yeah, he does. He _is_. Even if he had all the help in the world, he'd still be alone.

Soda and Darry, Two-Bit and Steve, they're so supportive, even at times when they seem to push him deeper under the water. They help more than he thought possible, but Pony's still got to do this alone. His little girl isn't crying for them inside that hospital. She's crying for Katie. Her mom. They could buy him a home, pay all the expenses, change all the diapers, and he'd still be doing this alone.

Without her, he'd always be alone.

It's a realization he's come to, on top of a grassy hill 600 yards from Darry's place, watching the sun rise - the same one he'd watch so many times as a kid. He remembers the salvation and relief that watching the sunrise would bring him as a kid, hoping it would do the same for him now. But Ponyboy isn't fourteen anymore.

The sun helps him as much as that blue-eyed doctor did.

Instead, the illuminating sphere and blend of yellow and orange colours reminds him of his current concerns and decisions.

Where would he live?

His and Katie's old apartment in Norman is mostly cleaned out and put into boxes. The two had decided to purchase a home in Stillwater before Katie died. They packed up everything in the apartment and were planning on moving it all into their new home on February 11th - six days after her death. After everything, including the preterm birth of his daughter, Ponyboy tried to forget about the move. But his attempts were futile and perhaps only worsened the situation. Phone calls from his landlord and real estate agent began flooding Darry's phone just two weeks after Katie's passing, wondering why there were still boxes in the apartment and none in Stillwater. Either they weren't informed of the situation, or they simply didn't care.

Either way, Ponyboy didn't know how to handle it. Soon his landlord would have him permanently kicked out of the apartment, and not long after would he lose ownership of the new house in the Stillwater. Him and Katie were planning on making their first payment as they moved in, which of course hadn't happened, leaving everyone confused and angry at the 23-year-old.

He's been staying at Darry and Betty's place since the baby was born, but that wouldn't last forever. They had their own family to raise, with three-year-old Shayne growing like a weed. As often as Darry would say his front door was "always open" and he could "stay as long as he wants", Pony knew that wasn't true. He appreciated the help, but that house isn't his anymore. It's Betty's and Darry's. The married couple moved into his parent's old room, and Shayne took Soda's. And while the thought of Ponyboy's little girl growing up in his old room was cute, it just wouldn't work out. They need their own house. It's just where and how as the problem.

Money's tight. These days everything seems so expensive, especially with the hospital bills that just keeping rolling in. But no, it ain't just the hospital bills. Katie's funeral was a couple weeks ago. It was small; Pony wasn't up to extravagance. In fact it was Betty that did most of the planning. Kathy and Patsy pitched in too, keeping in mind of his shrinking budget. Only family and close friends had shown for the ceremony, Katie's parents absent. They had both been called, but felt the long trip from Texas for a tiny funeral wasn't worth it, deciding to stay home and grieve to themselves. Their relationship with their daughter before her death was little to nothing, the unpleasant divorce effecting them all.

To be completely honest, Pony wasn't sure they knew of their newly born granddaughter. He didn't tell them. Perhaps it was selfish, but from his experience and Katie's painful memories, he didn't believe the two deserved to see and hold something as precious as his daughter. Maybe someday.

"Thought I'd find you out here."

Ponyboy turns towards the familiar voice. It's Soda.

"Ain't you cold?"

He shrugs, keeping his eyes on the colourful sunrise as his brother makes his way towards him. "A little."

Soda sits down next to him, holding a magazine and a grey cotton sweater. "Here, I come prepared."

He doesn't reply, pulls on the garment and gives a small smile as thanks. He doesn't feel like talking much these days.

Soda sighs, stares at the fading sunrise in front of them. Pony watches him, knowing he wasn't really watching it, _seeing_ it. He's never understood why his younger brother was so interested in the sunrise and set, all the colours and shades. For a while, Ponyboy didn't understand either. It was something that just strangely appealed to him. Him and Johnny. Those two would watch the sunset everyday, sitting next to a tree together in the lot, exchanging nothing but glances. Talking wasn't something required between them. They just got each other. Understood each other just by the look of their faces, their actions and mood. They had a unique relationship, Ponyboy and Johnny. The others saw it too, never quite getting it. Just like they never got why the two had an interest in the sun.

It was simply something that connected them. Something they both shared.

When Johnny died, the sunset was never like it was. Ponyboy never found it as appealing or beautiful. He stopped watching it after a while. It brought too much pain when it used to bring comfort, knowing that there was once someone by his side watching it with him. Someone who found it just as comforting. There was just an empty seat. A missing person by the tree in the vacant lot.

He doesn't really know why he came out here this morning, wanting to watch the sunrise again. An attempt at peace, he assumes.

"How's little foal doing? Ready to come home?" Sodapop asks, his eyes soft.

Pony smiles. He still hasn't chosen a name for his daughter yet, allowing the guys taking it upon themselves to give her a temporary one. They've even got the nurses back at the hospital calling her that, especially those learning her dad's name. It's cute, he thinks, but not cute enough to be signed and printed onto her official birth certificate. Just another thing on his plate to worry about and decide on.

"Think so. Her discharge date is a week from today."

"Wow," He whistles. "That close. You nervous?"

"Yeah," He replies, his eyes on Soda. Of course he'd understand. Or at least try to. He's Soda. "Real nervous."

Ponyboy analyzes his brother, watching him as he watches the sun. He's twenty-six years old and could still be sixteen. He hasn't changed, matured a little maybe, but he's still the same goofy, happy-go-lucky Soda. Maybe even happier. He's got a wife, their own apartment 5 minutes away from Darry's place, and a shared ownership with Steve at the DX. They got the promotion last year, after their boss announced his retirement. Sodapop and Steve were his best workers, and practically already running the place since he hardly ever showed up as it was. Until one Monday morning when he came and shoved the keys and the paperwork to the place in their hands.

Sodapop nods, keeping his eyes on the rising sun, fiddling with the magazine in his hands. "Well _I_ think you're gonna do great."

"You really think so?"

"'Course." He tilts his head, his eyes now on his brother. "What, you don't?"

"No...yeah..." Pony sighs, rubbing his chilled arms. "I don't know. It's just hard."

Soda nods, listening.

"I mean, she's coming home in a week. A _week,_ Sodapop. I don't, I don't even know where _home_ is. That house in Stillwater is probably gone and sold to someone else, and my, _our_ apartment in Norman ain't an option. Hell, Jim's probably ready to throw all our stuff out the window from the amount of times he's been calling."

"What about Darry's?"

"Me and the baby living with Darry, his wife, and his three-year-old son? It won't work. Darry needs his own place, and so do we."

"What about my house? Patsy won't mind. We've only got one spare bedroom, but until Foalie needs her own, we can set something up, maybe use the-"

"Soda."

"What?"

"Stop." Pony shows a sad smile. "I know you want to help, and I appreciate that, but we can't stay with you either."

He runs a hand through his hair. "Besides, that's another thing. She's coming home, wherever that may be, in a week and she doesn't even have a name. I can't get her birth certificate officially printed until she has a name and I just, I don't know, you know?"

"You and Katie didn't have any names already picked out?"

Ponyboy's heart gives a heavy thump at the mention of her name. "Not really," He says, her memory making him smile. "She always said the name would come to us after the baby was born. Like we'd get one look at her and the perfect name would just pop in our heads."

His smile falls, his green eyes stuck to a clothing ad on the back of Soda's magazine. "After her birth..." He swallows thickly, "After Katie died, I don't know, I just...I couldn't do it. Couldn't think of a name. How could I? How could I - how _can_ I give our daughter a name without her mother?"

Soda lays a comforting hand on his younger brother's shoulder.

"You know, I always thought Johnny was going to be the one to help me name my kids. Obviously I knew the mother would pitch in too but it just always seemed like a thing me and Johnny would do." Pony looks back to the sun. "He'd probably think of something really unique and meaningful, all poetic or something."

Sodapop chuckles good-heartedly. "Sounds like him."

"I just, I just never thought I would have to do it alone, Soda." Pony sighs. "God, I'm such a mess."

Soda's eyes soften. "And that's alright. You got every right to be. You've been through so much Ponyboy, of course you're gonna be a mess. But you got a baby to take care of now. A beautiful, blue-eyed baby girl who you're going to be taking home in a week. It ain't just you anymore, kiddo."

He flashes a reassuring smile. "And what're you going on about? You ain't alone. I'll help you name the little squirt. Besides, Tommy and Jack have already started."

"Have they now?"

"Better believe it. Driving Two-Bit and Kathy insane. They've got these..." He drones on, telling Ponyboy all about the creative names the five-year-old boys have come up with.

He fiddles with his magazine, the same clothing ad on the back cover facing the sky. He can't take his eyes off it; off the sweater in the photo.

"Soda, can I see that for a sec?" He asks, interrupting.

Sodapop gives a confused look. "What, this? Sure. Thought you might be out here a while, figured you might get bored or somethin'."

Ponyboy's heart gives a thump, his hands softly tracing the model. The sweater. It's identical. The small knit cuffs, the ribbed design, the bright red colour. It's Katie's. It has to be.

For all the years he'd known her, that sweater was her favourite. She'd wear it everywhere. Over a collared shirt, by itself, with jeans, with a skirt, to the grocery store, on a date, it didn't matter. And she always looked good in it. She made a simple piece of clothing stylish and sexy, dressed down or dressed up. She was wearing it when they first met. Probably wore it on their first official date, too. Some of her friends, her mother, all claimed it to be weird. Strange. _"_ _Can't you afford new clothes?"_ or _"You're wearing that again?"._ To Ponyboy Curtis, it wasn't weird, how could something be so weird when it looked so good?

When she got pregnant, when her belly grew three sizes too big for the clothes in her closet, she went on a shopping haul. She was so excited, Ponyboy remembers, how she couldn't wait to try everything on, or how she pulled every item out of the bags just to show her amused husband. _"What about this one, Ponyboy? You like it?" "These would go with that one, don't you think?" "I like the design on this one. Matches that shirt I bought you, remember?"_

Maybe it was the way her astonishing blue eyes lit up, or the way her perfect smile beamed across her face which convinced him to pay for it all. Maybe it was the adorableness of her excitement, or the way she'd dance around in one of the apparels when she came out of the dressing room.

Maybe it was because he loved her. He loved her so much it made his knees weak. He loved her even more when she was going to be a mother of their child, when he saw the love _she_ had for the miracle in her tummy.

She bought the same red sweater. A maternity version. The exact same one, from the exact same brand, of which Ponyboy didn't know the name. He finds it astounding that he had known Katie for five years and he had not once seen or heard the name of the brand. He didn't bother to ask.

But now he sits here, 600 yards from his childhood home, looking at that exact same sweater on Soda's magazine. The model looks nothing like Katie; her hair short and brown, her eyes too. She's much slimmer and taller than Katie was, with a bold red on her lips. Yet all he can see in that sweater is Katie. He can almost see her light golden hair sitting on her shoulders, or her nude painted nails as she sits her hands on her hips.

His eyes move up the page, to the large, burgundy coloured letters of the clothing label.

 _Emeline Fashion._

Pony blinks. Lets out a shaky breath.

"Ponyboy?" Sodapop notices. "What is it?"

In a flash, Ponyboy has is up from his spot and heading back to the house, magazine in hand.

"Woah! Kiddo, what's goin' on?" Soda calls, not far behind.

Pony's heart thumps heavily in his chest, his footsteps quick and determined. Her voice sounds in his head. _"When the time comes, when our son or daughter is born, you'll know. You'll just know_. _"_

But he didn't. On that day, on the fifth of February, when his life came crashing down, he _didn't_ know. All he saw was pain, all he felt was the hurt. The terrible aching in his heart clouded his mind, blocking him from really seeing the miracle in his arms. Really _seeing._ He couldn't think of a name, didn't know the name, because he was drowning in pain. In his grief.

And maybe he's still in the water. In the cold water within those tall walls. But perhaps he needed a reminder. A little push to get his head above the surface.

Perhaps he needed that magazine, that sweater, that memory of his beautiful Katie, to show him that on February the fifth, while it may seem his life fell apart, it just took a different turn. One with more joy and love and compassion and mystery than he could ever imagine. He just needed a little help above the water to see it.

"Ponyboy?"

He takes a deep breath, calls out behind him. "I've got a phone call to make!"

That he does, because he understands now. Understands what Katie meant when said _you'll know_.

'Cause he knows.

* * *

A week later, Darry comes to help get everything from the hospital to bring to his place, for the time being. Ponyboy didn't ask, he just showed up and grabbed a couple packs of diapers from the hospital and carried them into his truck. Darry being Darry, he guesses. Now that he's older he realizes how much he appreciates the things his big brother does for him.

After all the bags are carried, all the papers are signed, and all the goodbyes are said, Ponyboy exits St. Mary's main doors with his daughter in his arms. The sun is shining, spring finally peeking it's way around the corner, a gentle wind the only reminder of winter past. Every so often the breeze finds it's way inside the baby carrier, shifting the blankets or tickling the baby's nose, making her giggle and hum.

Darry has the rear door in his car open for him, there to help if he needs it.

Pony brings her to the car, fixes the carrier inside, straps her in, when a nurse runs out of the hospital with a paper in her hands.

"Mr. Curtis! Ponyboy!"

He turns to her, curious.

"I think you forgot this." She says, handing him the stiff, official looking paper from her hands. "Her birth certificate."

He takes it, feels it in his hands, smiles at it.

He gives the nurse a quick thanks, his eyes on the paper.

It's finally official. In print. He's a father to a breathtakingly beautiful blue-eyed baby girl.

A daddy.

To Emeline Johnny Curtis.

* * *

XXXX


End file.
